


Golden Age

by corvidae (MeMeMe)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Pendragon Is King, Chronic Pain, Court Sorcerer Merlin, Disabled Character, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff without Plot, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 13:20:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13435551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeMeMe/pseuds/corvidae
Summary: It was in his nature to worry over Arthur. He’d been doing it his entire adult life. He’d be doing it until he died, he supposed.





	Golden Age

A familiar twinge met Merlin in the lower back, and he reached for his staff before carefully rising to his feet. The other side of the bed was empty; despite Merlin’s insistence that past thirty-five a king had nothing to prove, Arthur still persisted in rising early to train with his knights before meetings with the privy council.

The council was seated at the round table when Merlin arrived. In the tallest chair, Arthur raised an eyebrow-- _how nice of you to join us, Mer-lin_ \-- but said nothing as Merlin made his way to the seat at the king’s right hand. Once, Merlin would have been embarrassed by all the eyes on him-- embarrassed by his tardiness, by his limp, by his very existence-- but these days he’d learned to take it as a sign of respect.

Arthur leaned toward him, and whispered “basilisk giving you trouble?,” one hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin laid a hand of his own atop Arthur’s for a moment before pulling away, a moment of reassurance. Arthur had grown very solicitous since the basilisk. Not that Merlin could blame him; seeing one’s partner take a basilisk fang to the spine had to be harrowing. It had only been through the intervention of magic that Merlin had survived it, and even then it had not seemed certain he would walk again. He had survived, he could walk; everything else was but an annoyance.

Of course, there were times the annoyances troubled him. Like at the end of the meeting, when Arthur rose unsteadily and stumbled, heavily favoring his right leg. Merlin would have liked to have offered assistance, but he had no choice but to look on in concern and grip his staff until his fingers turned white.

“It’s nothing,” Arthur said, waving a hand at the look on Merlin’s face. “I twisted it in the yard this morning. Stop fretting.”

“I’m not _fretting_ ,” Merlin groused. Arthur really should know better than to try and keep up with the kids. He might not like to admit it, but he wasn’t quite a young man anymore. He was at an age where it would be perfectly respectable to put on a stately outfit and rule from the throne room, retiring from fighting altogether. Arthur would hate that, but he was limping as badly as Merlin, for fuck’s sake.

“Fretting,” Arthur nodded. As if he really had room to talk.

“I’ll show you fretting,” Merlin grumbled. “I’ll take a look at it when we get to the room.” They had a habit of taking tea in their chamber after council meetings-- their own private council meeting, of sorts-- to debrief about what had been discussed, although Merlin had the frustrating notion they wouldn’t get around to any issues of governance today.

“All right,” Arthur agreed easily. “It’s really fine, though.”

“I know.” He did, really. Arthur was a stubborn prat sometimes, but he wasn’t so hopeless a case he’d be going about his day on a broken ankle. Probably.

When they got to their chamber, Arthur didn’t wait to be instructed before sitting at the table, relief apparent on his face.

Merlin felt a tender flush of sympathy as he lowered himself into the chair opposite and leaned his staff against the table. “Boot off.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but he complied, stretching his leg out to rest it in Merlin’s lap.

Merlin bent over the offending limb. “Swollen,” he remarked without looking up. Arthur really shouldn’t have been walking on it, though it seemed he’d come to that conclusion himself. He ran his hand lightly over the purpling skin. “This isn’t going to feel very nice,” Merlin said apologetically.

Arthur chuckled. “You know how to get a man excited, don’t you?”

“Git.” Merlin shook his head fondly and began moving the injured foot this way and that, testing its range of motion. He’d never really taken to Gaius’s trade, but he’d picked enough up to keep Arthur alive so far. Enough to tell a severe injury from a minor one, and he had to admit that Arthur was right about his foot: it would be fine as long as he kept off it for a day or two.

“Well? Will I live?” There was a thickness to Arthur’s words, and a sniffle after them, that called Merlin to snap his head up and focus in on the other man’s face.

“Does it hurt so bad?” he asked, voice soft with worry. It wasn’t like Arthur to cry, not over something like this.

But Arthur looked as surprised as he was. “Wh-- oh, no, I’m not-- I’m getting a cold, I think. That’s why I’m all--” he gestured at his face and sniffled again.

Merlin leaned back in his chair. “How long have you been feeling poorly?”

“I don’t feel _poorly_ ,” Arthur said. “I woke this morning a little bunged up, that’s all. It wasn’t worth mentioning.” He looked too tired to be truly cross as he raised a hand to his mouth to smother a cough.

A warm little place inside Merlin’s heart ruptured. “That’s it,” he said, waving an arm wildly. “To bed with you.”

Arthur rubbed an eye. “What?”

“Bed. You. Now.” Merlin nudged Arthur’s good foot with his staff. “Go on.”

“I’m not an _invalid_ ,” Arthur complained.

“I didn’t say you were, but I’ll come up with something else to call you if you don’t get in bed. You need rest for your ankle and that cold in your head.”

“You’re a ridiculous person,” Arthur mumbled, but he allowed himself to be herded across the room. “What if--” His voice cracked here, and he broke into a cough again, much to his own annoyance.

“You’re the king. Anyone who needs you will know where to find you,” Merlin soothed, turning back the covers. “Get in.”

Arthur reclined on the pillow, eyes closing already as Merlin pressed a hand to his forehead. “Don’t fuss. I’m fine,” he said once more, mouth curling in a small smile.

“Of course you are,” Merlin said. No fever, and all signs pointed to this being a slight chill, that would pass quickly. Arthur was in excellent health. Still, it was in his nature to worry over Arthur. He’d been doing it his entire adult life. He’d be doing it until he died, he supposed.

He turned his hand to stroke Arthur’s hair. It was graying at the temples, much faster than Merlin’s, which irritated them both. Merlin still looked perversely boyish, while Arthur matured into a regal distinguishment. Perhaps Merlin ought to grow a beard.

”What are you fretting about now?”

Merlin pursed his lips. “I can’t decide whether it’s better to put ice on your ankle or a warming pan in the sheets.”

”Aren’t you the most accomplished wizard of the age? Keep me warm  _and_ cool.”

Like many things, it seemed obvious when Arthur said it. A flash of gold in his eyes and it was done.

Arthur curled onto his side and reached one had to rest on Merlin’s hip, just alongside the center of the everpresent ache. “Stay.”

Merlin slid himself onto the mattress, his back protesting the movement even as it warmed to Arthur’s touch. “Where else would I go?”

“The tavern?”

Merlin laughed softly as he lowered himself to lie alongside Arthur. “I’ll stay,” he said, pressing a kiss to his lover’s temple. “I’ll stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Merlin fanfiction, and my first completed work in any fandom in *checks watch* gosh, almost five years. This is embarrassing, so please treat me as you would a small stray animal who has been found under your couch: speak softly, no sudden movements, leave treats in a trail to safety.


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